


things the grass already knows

by advaevika



Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers Megaforce
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 18:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6578257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/advaevika/pseuds/advaevika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They’re ideas that flit into her head far too often, small touches like vines on a garden wall, creeping their way into Emma’s mind and clouding her judgement. She would never, could never. She wants to all the same. "</p><p>gia/emma, five + one- times emma wants to kiss her</p>
            </blockquote>





	things the grass already knows

 

  
_you can sit in the pine trees_  
_you can feel at home_  
_you can breathe a sigh of silence in the woods_  
_you can bawl your heart out_  
_make your feelings known_  
_things the grass already knows_

_pine trees- jake bugg_

 

 **i.**  
Emma’s never really been one for make-up. It’s not that she doesn’t like it, more that she has a routine and outside of that, she hasn’t got a clue. There’s a party, though, one that they’ve somehow all ended up invited to, and Gia had been so excited at the idea of them getting ready together that Emma hadn’t been able to say no. _‘Like normal girls!’_ Gia had exclaimed, clapping her hands together, smile bright on her lips. Emma’s not sure she wants to be a normal girl.

The dress is almost unbearable, sequins and flared skirts outside of Emma’s comfort zone, but she has to admit, it looks good. The blush on her cheeks complements the muted pink of the fabric, the glitter on her eyelids catching the light. She almost doesn’t recognise herself.

“Good so far?” Gia asks, looking up from her rummaging to gauge Emma’s opinion. She nods, pleased when her approval makes Gia’s face split into a grin. “Great! Now for the lips!” There’s a flutter in Emma’s chest, a beat of butterflies in spring.

“What? There’s more?” Emma tries her best to sound outraged, but Gia just rolls her eyes and drags her back to the chair. “Is that a pencil?” she queries, eyeing Gia suspiciously, “why do you have a pencil?” This earns her another eye roll, complete with a long-suffering sigh. She tries not to smile.

“It’s a _lip_ pencil, Emma. For your lips. Now stop talking or it’s going to end up on your nose.” Emma goes to open her mouth again, retort on the tip of her tongue, but Gia’s face is steeled in concentration and she forgets what she was going to say.

A single blonde curl has escaped from behind Gia’s ear, wavering as it hangs between them. She’s so close, too close, lips slightly parted, eyes focused on Emma’s mouth. Emma wants to lean forward, it wouldn’t be hard, there are only inches separating them. She wants to damn the make-up and this party to hell, slip off the cool yellow of Gia’s too-tight dress and feel her skin, warm under her fingers.

They’re ideas that flit into her head far too often, small touches like vines on a garden wall, creeping their way into Emma’s mind and clouding her judgement. She would never, could never. She wants to all the same.

But then Gia’s done, stepping back to admire her work. Emma can feel the heat rising in her cheeks, silently hoping that the layers of powder and liquid will hide her flush.

“You look stunning.”

Emma smiles. Her heart hurts.

 

 

 **ii.**  
Prom is a whirlwind. Everyone’s loud, boisterous, the promise of the end, heat in their veins. Emma thinks she’s probably a little tipsy on their ill-gotten alcohol, a mixture of Jake’s miraculous score of the evening and Noah’s home distilled moonshine. Her head is a flurry of colour and noise, the sand and salt prickling on her skin. It’s simultaneously a nightmare and a daydream, just outside the bounds of reality.

Gia’s wearing yellow. Of course she’s wearing yellow. But it’s not yellow, really, it’s gold, and she shines in the light of the campfire, sun bright and glowing. Her hair is tousled, static, a surreptitious halo to counteract her devilish grin.

Behind them Jake and Troy are shouting, nonsensical blurs of sound that are swallowed up by the waves. The water licks at Emma’s toes, climbs to Gia’s ankles, ridiculous shoes forgotten at the edge of a dancefloor that seems so far away.

“I’ll miss this,” Gia smiles, tossing her head back, turning her gaze skyward.

“You don’t have to,” Emma murmurs, trying desperately to get a read on her through the haze. The night is warm, despite the dark. Noah’s voice has joined the uproar, their laughter carrying beyond the beach.

“What if it’s not the same?” Gia whispers, shoulder brushing softly against Emma’s.

Her eyes are worried, watery. There are smudges on her cheeks, tears no-where to be seen. Emma could turn her head a fraction more, capture her lips, beautiful and anxiety chewed, lipstick wearing away in the middle. She wants to thread her fingers into the golden strands of her hair and feel their silk, trace the lines of her curves beneath the hem of her dress.

Jake sits down heavily beside them, his arm slipping around Gia’s waist as she leans into him. He offers Emma the bottle of vodka with a smile and her guilt writhes in her stomach. She drinks until the burning in her eyes is from liquor and nothing else.

 

 

 **iii.**  
Gia’s a wreck, mascara smeared, eyes puffy and swollen. Her nose is running and her face is blotchy and red from her crying. Emma wants to kiss her. She’d been waiting for this day to come, they all had, really. From the moment they’d begun dating the clock had started ticking.

Through Gia’s mumbles and sobs Emma gathers that she’s the one who ended it, that it’s the guilt that’s tearing her apart. She wraps her arms around Gia’s shoulders, holds her head to her chest as they sit on the floor at the foot of Emma’s bed, a tangle of clammy, guilt ridden limbs. Emma holds Gia until the cries stop, until her chokes dissipate and her breathing evens out.

“I didn’t want to hurt him,” Gia finally forces out, her voice muffled against Emma’s shirt, “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Her hair is a mess of tangles and knots under Emma’s fingers, neck damp from the exertion, throat crackling when she inhales. It’s hard to keep her thoughts in check, but there’s little she wouldn’t try to do for Gia.

“Do you want something to drink?” Emma asks, keeping her tone gentle. Gia’s nod is small, a shadow of a gesture, and it takes Emma a few moments to react, softly prying Gia from her arms.

Emma braces herself against the sink as the faucet runs. She feels weak, sick, like there’s something trapped under her skin. The water is loud in her ears, but it’s still not enough to drown out the thumping pulse in her head. Taking a breath, she steps back, closes her eyes and tries to find her centre, focus how Troy taught them to. She tries to steady herself and bury the sinking feeling of guilt in her stomach. Her heart slows, the pounding stops. The what ifs and what nows trail away. Emma shuts off the water, calm, collected, the surface still in the glass.

“Thanks,” Gia mouths as she sips, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve, “I’m sorry about this, I- your roommate probably hates me.” Her smile is small, forced, but Emma appreciates her attempt at levity all the same.

“Don’t worry, she doesn’t like me either,” Emma mock-whispers, perched next to her on the bed. She presses herself against Gia’s arm in a show of solidarity and wonders if her touch lingers too long. Gia’s smile is more real this time, but there are tears prickling at the edges of her eyes and Emma can’t help but furrow her brow.

“Really, Emma, thank you-” she stops, inhales deeply, “thank you for everything.” Emma’s chest hurts as the tears slip down Gia’s cheeks, and she wants more than anything to swipe them away with her thumb, to trace the tracks they have made with her lips. She tried to make the choice, she tried to push it away. It’s impossible when Gia’s there in front of her.

“I promised I’d always be here, didn’t I?” The words feel hollow in her mouth, but Gia buries her head into Emma’s shoulder, tears warm on her neck.

“I love you so much.” It’s small and quiet, yet somehow it echoes in the room.

“I love you too.” A new wave of tears is warm on her neck, Gia’s hands gripping at her waist. She falls asleep like that, fingers tight on her shirt, hair prickling on her skin. Emma lies awake for hours.

 

 

 **iv.**  
The crunch of grass and feels strange under Emma’s feet, the changing season not having truly set in. Gia’s steps come in time with hers, the only other human sound in the otherwise peaceful forest.

They’re probably bundled up too warm, hats and scarves never really necessary in the California heat, especially not at the start of Autumn, but there’s a morning chill in the air, the wind crisp and cold, burning Emma’s cheeks and tinting them red.

“Why exactly are we here, Emma?” Gia asks, stumbling over pine cones on the dirt track, none too pleased with the choice of location.

“I told you- my assignment is to capture time.” It’s her final year, one more school term before being released into the world. The fear of an uncertain future is rough beneath her skin.

“Yeah, yeah, but why a _pine_ forest? Surely you should be- I don’t know, taking pictures of pretty autumn leaves?” She sounds less than impressed, but Emma’s determined to enjoy this, if not to make her understand.

“Pine trees are evergreen,” she starts, watching Gia roll her eyes at the obvious statement, “they’re unchanging- time doesn’t affect them. I like that concept, of the world around them moving on, but the pines staying the same.” Gia looks at her, her expression undeterminable. Emma feels like she’s trying to see inside her, to find deeper meaning in her words. It takes her a moment to notice that they’ve come to a standstill.

“Well I wish you’d picked something slightly less remote,” Gia sighs, breaking their eye contact and looking ahead of her, soft glimmers of daylight breaking in from above the canopy, filtering through her hair. Emma’s shutter clicks without her meaning it. “Hey! We’re here for the trees- not me, c’mon let’s get on with it so I can go back to ignoring my workload somewhere warmer.”

Emma takes a lot of pictures- the stump of a pine with endless rings, the rot crawling through and cracking the bark; Gia’s fingers skirting low-hanging needles, the trees towering above her, frame so small against their might; the wilting leaves of the brush, the only place the seasons touch; the green of the pines reflected in Gia’s eyes.

There are more pictures with blonde hair and pink lips than of the beauty that surrounds them.

They sit in a clearing, sandwiches on their knees, their only blanket a prickle of needles against their thighs. Gia is leant back against a tree that will outlive them both, sun-bright despite the clouds that have rolled in.

“Get everything you needed?” she asks, re-packing her bag, scarf slipping from her neck. Emma clicks her shutter one last time, nodding her assent. “Good, because my feet are _killing_ me.”

As they stand to leave, nature rebels, the heavens opening. “Shit!” Gia squeals, throwing her backpack over her shoulder and running back to the path, grabbing Emma’s hand and pulling her along. Her feet slip and stick in the mud, hair flattened to their faces as they run back to Gia’s car. Emma’s panting and breathless when they get there, clothes drenched and dripping, but thankful that her camera is safely in the confines of her bag. Gia’s eye-rolling and sighing, shaking the mud from her boots. She’s still holding Emma’s hand.

It takes Emma more than a few seconds to look away, to stop seeing the droplets of water caught in Gia’s hair like snow, the flush of her cheeks and heavy rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes follow the rain as it slips down her neck, and she stops herself, letting go of Gia’s hand, busying herself with wringing out her sodden shirt.

She doesn’t stop wanting to kiss her, not when she laughs about their bad luck or takes her shoes off to drive, certainly not when they get back to Emma’s place, smelling of rain water and pine, clothes still damp and clinging to their skin, trekking mud in their wake.

The photo is perfect. The gold of Gia’s curls trailing down her back, the hint of a smile in the curve of her cheek as she stares at the birds circling the treetops. It is a moment of stillness and clarity, a beautiful second. She turns in a different one- a lonely pine from across the clearing, birds perched in the boughs. She shows no-one.

 

 

 **v.**  
Emma’s birthday is in late July, when the nights are warm and sticky, the haze of heat never dropping. Twenty one feels like a big number, too big for where she is, but when she thinks about all the battles she’s fought- the times she’s come out alive- suddenly it seems miraculous that any of them have made it this far.

The club is dark and loud, the cotton of her dress plastered to her back from sweat, her own, others, it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s a cold, wet patch where it clings to her thighs, someone’s spilled drink, an almost welcome feeling.

The alcohol burns as she swallows it back, the glass feeling fragile in her hand. The shots were Gia’s idea, of course, and she throws them down with reckless abandon. Noah almost chokes, Troy shakes his head to rid it of the sting, Jake laughs and Orion raises an eyebrow at their antics. Everything is simultaneously too dark and not dark enough, and Emma’s struggling to hear them over the sound of the music that engulfs them.

She manages to force down the last one, watching as Gia finishes too, catching the drops at the edge of her mouth with her tongue. She throws her curls back over her shoulders and grins, teeth glowing in the dim. Her smile looks strangely calculating, far more sober than the rest of them, and something in it sends shivers down Emma’s spine.

“Wanna dance?” Gia asks, already slipping her hand into Emma’s and dragging her into the throng of bodies, sparing a wave to the boys as they go. Emma’s not sure she’s one for dancing, her inhibitions not yet significantly muted- but the mass of people around them thrum with energy, Gia’s face is bright and excited, and that’s all it takes to convince Emma to go with it.

Gia twists against her, spins her around, somehow manages to always keep contact. Her hands skim and catch on the fabric of Emma’s dress, pushing at her hips, grip never quite tight enough. Emma can feel her head starting to swim and spin with her, her fingers sliding against Gia’s neck, cool and damp, pulse thumping, feeling almost frantic beneath her. They’re so close, noses almost brushing, legs interwoven, Gia is pure heat pressed into her. The lights strobe and burn Emma’s eyes, creating moments of dark, making their movements look stilted and unreal.

There’s a hitch in Gia’s breath, the smell of alcohol and a secret cigarette, unnaturally pink lips gently parted. For a moment Emma thinks she’s going to lean in and close the space between them, that the alcohol has finally gotten the better of her control, or maybe this is just the first time in years when she’s felt truly connected to Gia- no Jake, no school, no expectations. She wants to taste what’s on Gia’s lips, lick the salt from the dampness of her skin, feel everything forbidden. Gia throws her head back with the music and Emma almost kisses her neck, desperate to feel the thrum of her pulse with more than just fingers.

She doesn’t know how long they dance for, loses track of time when Gia makes eye contact, heavy and heated. Emma looks at her like she’s the only one in the room, the only other person on earth, like she’s everything Emma wants and feels, safe in the knowledge that Gia won’t remember the hunger in her eyes, pretending that she’s looking back at her the same way.

The song ends, and in the tiniest moment before the next one picks up Emma can feel her head pounding, breath ragged. Gia tilts her head to the side, questioning in the language of rooms that are too loud in which to be heard. The world shifts a little more.

“I need some air.” Her voice sounds booming in her head, more of a shout than anything else, and for a second she worries that Gia hasn’t heard and opens her mouth again, but she sees Gia’s hands signalling, Jake nodding and rolling his eyes across the room, then she’s got Emma by the hand again, dragging her outside.

Everything is a blur, the stairs, the press of people, the bouncer stamping their hands with ink, rough and glazed, at an angle. When the fresh air finally hits her Emma stumbles back, Gia catching her against her chest, teetering in their heels.

“Whoa, slow down there Em,” Gia chides, hands strong on her arm, “those last shots really did a number on you.” She can hear the joking tone in Gia’s voice, the smile on her lips, but there’s real concern, and she doesn’t loosen her grip until Emma’s standing straight again.

“I’m not really used to all this,” Emma sighs, shaking her head, realising it’s a mistake when the street starts to tip again, laughing at her own stupidity and leaning into Gia as they walk.

“You seemed pretty competent on the dance floor.” Her voice is like honey, smooth, comforting, and Emma can do nothing but hum in response, letting Gia lead her through the dark.

“Where are we going?” she manages to ask when her feet start to ache and the club feels miles away.

“Away from the noise,” Gia replies, a smile in the lilt of her voice.

The playground is empty, of course, though the swings rock slightly with the barest hint of a breeze rippling through the grass. They have to take their shoes off to scale the fence, heels ill-suited for climbing adventures, but once they’re gone Emma feels far more stable, freer, somehow.

The grass is a minefield of twigs and leaves, surprisingly sharp against the soles of her feet, and she’s thankful for the bounce of the rubber tile beneath her, a forgiving surface on which to fall. Despite age and maturity, there is something in the atmosphere, a youthful energy that calls out. Emma thinks it’s probably the alcohol, but Gia’s smiling too, balancing on the balls of her feet, testing the give of the ground below her.

Though the frames seem small now- what was once a castle now a mess of wooden beams and metal, the slide that was double her height only a foot above her, swings a little too low- there’s excitement in it, and all it takes is for Gia to speak the words, break the silence and set her loose.

“Race you to the top.”

Time lapses, Emma’s pretty sure there are splinters in her fingers and cuts on her toes, she knows there’s dirt on her dress and a split seam at her thigh, and yet she feels more at peace, more alive than she has in years. Her toes graze the ground lightly, Gia swinging just as slowly beside her, elated and out of breath.

She wishes their feet never had to touch the ground.

 

 

**vi.**

New York mornings are worse than Emma expected. The chill in the air bites at her cheeks, infiltrates the cracks in her lips until they're chapped and dry and she has to lick at them to stave off the pain. She's used to the breeze being slow and warm, the ground cold but not cracking under her feet- there's never mud caked to her boots or frost clinging to the rooftops.

The climb is steep and her calves are burning by the time they reach the top, strap of her camera cutting into the exposed, icy skin at her neck. Gia has Emma's tripod slung over her back, just tall enough that it doesn't scrape the ground, huffing slightly with the weight of it. The little bench at the summit is damp, not quite cold enough for ice, the turn of spring at least giving them that little grace.

So maybe April wasn't the best time to go sightseeing, to look for inspiration in a new place, a city that her eyes and camera had yet to learn. But the mist that hangs in the air, illuminated by the first rays of sun, and she barely has to work to set up the shot.

Gia's oddly quiet, hands wrapped tight around her coffee cup, keeping her lips pressed to the plastic lid, absorbing as much of its heat as possible.

It's slightly harder to adjust the focus with her shaking fingers and Gia's silence boring into her, but she has precious few moments to capture the shot, so she pushes it out of her mind and tries not to think too hard about the framing, about the gentle blur of the trees in her peripheral.

When it's all finely tuned, when everything is just so- aligned for that one perfect moment- Emma finally allows herself to sit back, to watch the skyline and wait for the sun to rise above it.

"It's beautiful up here," Gia finally says, heat of the coffee making her breath cloud. It’s hesitant, somehow, melts into the mood. There's something fragile about the quiet, the bustle of the city below seemingly tempered by the mist and the morning. It's as if the world is at peace, waiting for the moment before the sun rises and the day truly begins. There's a magic in the air that Emma can't wait to capture. Yet she knows that it's something that can't really be brought across in film, that no matter how hard she tries the comfortable quiet, the lull in the stress and the noise, the slow burn in her legs and the ache in her neck; they're not things that the viewer will ever see in her picture perfect scene. They are what only she and Gia will know, will share.

"Hey, Em." It's a whisper as Emma stares down the viewfinder, unblinking, still as can be as the first sparks of yellow creep into view. "Emma?" Not so soft, this time, more impatient, like the thrum in Emma's bloodstream, the anxiety and excitement of everything lining up. "Emma." Insistent, but not demanding, like Gia's fingers on her neck. They're chilled to the bone, ice that skates across Emma's raw skin, that prickles inside her.

Her lips are not nearly so cold. Her mouth is coffee black but spring sweet. The tip of Gia's nose brushes against hers. The sun won't wait, Emma knows this, it tickles at the back of her mind, but however long the sun might take, this has taken longer. She has waited for the sun, but she's waited far longer for this. Her mouth is hot when Gia pulls away, nose red, cheeks flushed, eyes bluer than the horizon.

"You're going to miss your shot."

But Emma's already taken it. The shutter has fallen and the sunrise has been captured, the yellow sun tinting the clouds pink, breaking through the thin veil of fog before them, click and fall of the shutter lost in their breathing.

She doesn't care that it might not be perfect, that she could take a hundred more, readjust, wait for another moment, because this one was perfect, something a picture could never truly capture.

Her eyes don't stray back to the horizon.

"Why now?" Emma doesn't mean to say it, but it tumbles from her lips before she even has time to form the question in her head, so full of images and words.

Gia tentatively takes her hand, and Emma could have sworn her fingers were numb from the cold, but they burn and tingle wherever Gia's skin touches her own.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time." It’s a rush of breath, of fear, Emma’s treacherous unknown reflected back at her in Gia’s eyes. "I had to wait," Gia mumbles, and Emma can hear her regret, tries not to mimic the worry in her voice. "You had to know that I meant it."

The surge of blood is instant, pounding in Emma's head, burning her ears, because this wasn't a mistake, it wasn't a whim. She can feel it in the way that Gia holds her hands so tightly, too tightly, as if she's scared.

This time Emma's fingers trace the curve of Gia's jaw, she can't help but touch, can't help but let all she's held in for so long melt away. The sun is free from the dark of night, no more secrets to hide, the light of day bright and true.

"You knew?"

"I knew."

Emma’s voice is trapped in her throat. But now it’s not in fear, not in the anguish of what she might lose, it’s suffocated by years of imprisonment, the years that never allowed her to think of the words she might say.

"But I never wanted you to think that you were- that I didn't love you, that you were anything less than that to me.” Her words come in clouds, Emma’s heart frantic in her chest, desperately trying to beat enough blood to her brain so that Gia’s words will make sense. “You're more than a friend, more than any friend- more than Jake or anyone else I’ve ever met,” she takes a breath, cheeks pink, glassy tears hanging on the precipice. “Please don’t hate me.”

And like that, she is set free. In their shared distress. In the face of what these actions could do to a bond woven through endless moments of happiness and strife.

“I could never.”

The rising sun warms Emma’s skin, or maybe it’s Gia’s touch, the way her fingers hold so tightly.

She’s taken thousands of photographs trying to capture beauty, so that she might hold onto the perfection of a moment for longer than the treacherous span of her memory might allow. The sunrise captured, a glorious cacophony of colour, birds floating overhead, smoke and smog and steam seeping up from the city below. She won’t need it to remember this.


End file.
